


Without any accident

by lonely_night



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: All the cuddles, Fluff, I mean it’s Bucky, M/M, Minor Angst, Minor Mentions of Violence, Nightmares, No beta don’t kill me, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Steve is a softie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:34:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_night/pseuds/lonely_night
Summary: Steve visits Bucky during his time at Wakanda and Bucky learns to trust again.*I suck at summaries I’m sorry!*
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! Not only have I not written anything for ages but I’ve also joined the MCU fandom very recently so if I get anything wrong please let me know!  
Xox

“Steve?” He looked around for the sparkling blue eyes, the laughter lines, the new, square build so different to the frame he’d always associated with his best friend. The dainty figure he had known was gone forever but Bucky could see glimpses of that man swimming within the blue eyes, hardened, cold, almost dead when gazing upon enemies. Blue eyes that were so bright, kind, loving when looking at the Avengers. At Bucky.

Bucky wished he knew why Steve’s eyes softened when he looked at him. It was true that his memory was coming back yet it had taken so long to retain even simple facts about his previous life that he couldn’t imagine he’d ever remember everything. He’d have to rely on Steve to fill him in, and to tell him what he’d been doing whilst he’d been at Hydra’s mercy, although he supposed that that was less of a puzzle - he’d been a killing machine, and a highly effective one if the blood that had stained under his nails was anything to go by. Once he’d arrived at Wakanda Bucky had spent an entire day in the shower, trying to wash away the blood, grime and feelings of guilt that he felt imprinted onto his skin.

It hadn’t worked.

However, Bucky felt as though he was recovering with every day he spent at Wakanda, at his safe place. Every minute spent watching the sunset, chopping logs, hiking, lying in bed and just thinking, talking to himself, trying to process everything that had happened to him, and chopping more logs (surprisingly therapeutic and so he did it often, plus he was only inhabitant of his small log cabin and had no heating so fires were imperative), every minute was a minute he wasn’t holding a gun and shooting someone dead under Hydra’s will - it was a win-win all round.

Bucky felt the next step might be to talk to Steve about it all. Although they got along fine and Bucky even caught himself laughing with the other man during missions - a far cry from his missions with Hydra - and although they would hug, share a smile, Bucky knew there was something he wasn’t doing right, something he saw in the sadness in Steve’s eyes, in the guarded smile, in the trembling hands. Bucky desperately wanted to ask Steve about it, ask him about their past, his past, about what he was doing wrong. But Steve hardly ever visited Wakanda and whenever he was it was on a mission or business and Bucky always lost his nerve to talk to him about it anyway, the moment Steve would see him Bucky seemed to forget how to speak anyway.

Steve was here now. Bucky didn’t know why, probably a mission report, but what mattered was that he’d decided to spend some time with him before heading home. Bucky didn’t know where home was for Captain America now: the Avengers Tower, Bucky supposed. With all the other Avengers. But not with him. That thought wounded him but he wasn’t quite sure why.

Bucky had been trying to work up the resolve to talk to Steve for a while now. Ever since he’d moved to Wakanda. It often happened that way with Bucky - he’d realise he wanted to say something when it was too late. Now he didn’t dare let his opportunity go whilst he had it. Bucky tried to start a sentence again - “S-st...”, his voice faltered and he tried to clear his dry throat, the nerves threatening to climb out of his chest and smother him.

“Yeah Buck?” Steve’s voice returned him to the present but Bucky couldn’t reply. He opened his mouth but instead choked on air, on unsaid words. Immediately he felt Steve’s large, warm hand on his back, steadying him, but he hovered, tentative, when he should have been resting his hand on Bucky’s shoulder easily.

It should have scared Bucky to feel someone’s presence behind him and yet not see them. Hydra’s training should have taught him to be weary of such a danger. Somehow he wasn’t scared. Steve was dangerous but he wouldn’t hurt him. He had dropped his shield to the floor for a reason all those months ago. Steve trusted him, for better or for worse and for no explicable reason, but he trusted him nonetheless. Steve wasn’t a threat to him. He was safe.

Breathing shallow, Bucky stepped backwards purposefully, hoping to encourage Steve into a position he guessed had been usual, normal for them when they had been just Bucky and Steve, nothing special. Nothing special but perhaps all the more special for that. He felt the hand press heavier on his back and then it was gone, hovering again uncertainly. He knew he had to use words here.

“Stevie?” He tried again, the unfamiliar name rolling off his tongue with perfect familiarity. Bucky groaned, scrubbing his hand across his face in frustration.

“Start simple, yeah Buck?” Steve said softly, somewhere near his ear, “can I touch you?”

Dizzying relief and gratitude surged through him, “yeah,” he breathed,

“This okay?” Steve asked, returning his hand to rest on Bucky’s back, 

“yeah,” he said again, trying to relax and all to aware of how bad a job he was doing of it. He felt his muscles taught and unmoving. He set his jaw and forced his shoulders downwards. Bucky felt as though he was made of ice. He wasn’t called the winter soldier for nothing, he thought dryly.

“Hey, don’t try to force it Buck, it’ll get easier with time.” Steve didn’t sound annoyed with him so Bucky nodded stiffly, getting used to the feel of Steve’s hand on him. Getting used to the feel of a physical touch that was pleasant and warm and meant to comfort him, not to cause him pain. Not to cause others pain.

Steve began to rub gentle circles on his back, his touch blissfully warm even underneath his clothing and Bucky sighed, basking in it, leaning into the touch further and then a little further still until his back was almost touching Steve’s chest.

Steve moved his hand so as not to get stuck between their bodies and draped his hand over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky shifted, feeling the weight of it settle comfortably, watching the other man’s arm muscles relax out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay?” Steve’s voice came softly from behind him and Bucky nodded, careful not to head butt Steve, unused to this proximity, to his old friend’s new height, unused to everything about him. But, Bucky supposed it would have been the same had Steve never changed - Bucky wouldn’t have remembered either version of Steve and perhaps it would have been harder for the other man to accept that if he had never changed.

The Steve from his memories had been nice, Bucky had been able to figure that out easily. Perhaps nice was an understatement.

He couldn’t help but be thankful that Steve was physically different now though. Bucky rarely felt stable, rarely felt safe physically or mentally and Steve’s strong arms and tall statue were grounding, stabilising, and Bucky felt able to let his guard down.

Steve slowly pulled him closer to him, giving him time to pull away. Bucky leant closer, pressing his back against Steve’s chest finally and resting his head on his shoulder.

Turning his head slightly he saw the other man watching him, something inhis eyes making Bucky’s heart clench painfully. He wasn’t sure why.

“How is it?” Steve asked, his voice purposefully light, seeming to expect disappointment.

“Good,” he replied with conviction, trying to convince the other man of just how peaceful he felt.

Steve didn’t say anything but Bucky felt his relief in the right hand that he brought up to rest on his hip. Steve shot him a questioning look, checking that it was okay. Bucky moved his hand to cover Steve’s on his hip, encouraging him not to move it away.

Steve exhaled softly and Bucky’s lips twitched into a small smile, his dark eyelashes fluttering shut.

They stayed like that for several minutes. Bucky felt a blanketing sense of peace covering him and, listening to the rhythmic breathing by his ear, he could well believe Steve felt it too.

“What was it you were gonna say Buck?” Steve’s voice was soft and his posture was relaxed but Bucky could hear a hint of worry.

The physical contact with Steve (Bucky privately agreed with Lang that Steve’s ass really was America’s ass), had got him so wound up that Bucky had almost forgotten how they’d got into this situation to begin with and grudgingly remembered what he had wanted to ask him about. He wanted to know what it had been like before, what he might have done, said before in this situation, why Steve looked so differently at him than how he looked at his other friends.

Bucky felt a lot braver encircled in Steve’s arms, a lot more sure that Steve wouldn’t get angry with him.

Finding the words was still hard though.

“Can you-,” he broke off, unsure of how to phrase his question, or many questions, but Steve began drawing circles with his thumb on his hand and comforted by the gentle touch, Bucky understood that Steve could and would be patient.

“I want to know what- what it was like before... what we were like before,” he said, desperately wanting him to understand.

Steve nodded thoughtfully, “you know I don’t want you to change who you are now though, Buck? That would be impossible, like it’s impossible for me to go back to who I was.”

“Yeah,” he said, understanding, “yeah I know.”

Steve continued the slow movements with his thumb whilst he thought.

“Well,” he said after a while, “one time when you were on leave for a few days we’d been to the bar and you’d told me all about your adventures - the good ones and the bad ones - and I remember feeling so useless back at home, after Mum and Dad had passed away, that I started crying in the doorway as you said goodbye,” Bucky tilted his head slightly to look at the other man and saw he was looking straight ahead, a small smile on his face, remembering, “you held me without even hesitating. I was so short I didn’t even reach your shoulders,” Bucky heard the smile in his voice without needing to see it but he glanced up at him anyway, the simple beauty of Steve’s smile breathtaking, “it was perfect because I could hear your heartbeat,” Steve was talking quietly but with Bucky’s ear right by his mouth he could hear every word.

Steve paused and Bucky said, “how?”

The taller man smiled down at him fondly, his blue eyes warm, “do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah”, he said quietly, and then he sighed, wanting to hear Steve’s heart beat more than he probably should, “but reverse positions?” he asked, his voice small.

“‘Course,” Steve replied easily, the hand on his hip slowly turning him around to face him. Bucky’s heart pounded, the man’s easy beauty overwhelming as his laughter lines crinkled with his soft smile.

Bucky tentatively laid his head on Steve’s shoulder again, this time turning to press his nose into Steve’s chest, inhaling the scent. His smell was at once as fresh as it was musky, as addictive as it was refreshing and Bucky marvelled at the contradictions. He felt Steve’s arms encircle him once again, stronger this time, wrapping around him like a blanket, one hand cradling his head.

Bucky wound his right arm around the other man, resting it on his back, daring to grasp the clothing there, balling the cloth in his fist. He left his metal arm hanging loosely by his side, unsure of whether Steve would ever want to feel its harsh coldness, the permanent reminder of the influence Hydra’s had once had over him.

Bending his head slightly Bucky realised Steve was right- he could hear the taller man’s heart beating, strong and sure. It felt safe. He breathed in Steve’s scent again and exhaled softly, feeling his eyes grow heavy.

Steve dropped his head down, resting his cheek lightly against Bucky’s hair.

“Feel okay?” He murmured,

“Mmm”, Bucky replied, “‘can see why you liked it.” He glanced up, seeing Steve’s cheeks dusted light pink and, feeling his own face heat up with the proximity, he nuzzled closer, daring himself, burying his warm face into Steve’s even warmer chest.

“So it was like this?”

“No,” said Steve, and Bucky looked up at him confused, “it was like-,” Steve slowly brought his hand down from Bucky’s head and towards his metal arm, taking his hand in his own, encouraging it to join Bucky’s other hand around Steve’s back. Normally he recoiled at someone touching his arm, and they recoiled too. “But Steve...”, he said quickly.

Steve’s hand did not still on his arm but instead of continuing to move him he began to draw patterns on his metal hand like he’d done earlier on his right hand.

“Yeah Buck?”

“Are you sure you want to... touch it?” He asked nervously,

“Am I sure I want to touch you?” Steve repeated, “sure am.”

Bucky lifted his head, not missing the way Steve seemed to accept his arm as part of him, not as a separate joint, a disease. He stared at him, surprised, dark blue eyes meeting light blue, “you’re certain?”

“I’m certain,” Steve said, voice firm, and Bucky did as Steve’s touch suggested, hesitantly moving his arm until it was wrapped around the other man, resting on his lower back.

“It was like  _this_ ,” Steve said, moving his hand back to Bucky’s head, stroking the back of his neck.

Bucky sighed peacefully, his eyes closing.

“Thanks Stevie,” he whispered,

“Don’t thank me,” Steve replied quietly, “not when I have so much to thank _you_ for.”

Bucky shook his head minutely but Steve raised a stern eyebrow and Bucky didn’t say anything, didn’t dare add that Steve had nothing to thank him for. Instead, he buried his head in Steve’s chest again, basking in the warmth, revelling in the contact when Steve’s hand returned to stroke his neck and run his fingers through his hair.

“So what happened next?” he asked, his voice muffled.

There was a brief pause and Bucky stilled, worried, but then Steve cleared his throat and he relaxed again, focusing on the fingers trailing through his hair.

“Well, we hugged for a while until I stopped crying and we joked about me ruining your shirt,” said Steve, smiling fondly, “because I’d made it all snotty.”

Bucky grinned, “glamorous.”

“Very,” Steve agreed, “and then, um...”.

Bucky glanced up, confused as to why Steve appeared to be stalling, “and then what?”

Steve swallowed. Bucky watched his adam’s apple bobbing. He’d never thought about it before but the movement was strangely alluring.

Clearing his throat again, Steve said quietly, “and then you kissed me for the first time.”

“I-,” Bucky tried to keep the surprise out of his voice. Of all the memories and feelings he had remembered so far this had not been one of them. He had to admit he was a bit disappointed with his brain. 

“I kissed you?”

“Yeah.”

“For the first time?”

“Um yeah, there were other times.” Steve said lamely,

“I gathered,” he said dryly.

Whilst Bucky attempted to process this information, Steve began shifting and Bucky had the horrible realisation that he was going to pull away,

“Steve, don’t,” he said quickly, “don’t go.”

The other man look confused, “but-,”

“Just... just don’t leave Stevie, please.”

Bucky didn’t want to think too hard about why he was pleading with Steve to stay, but fortunately for him, he didn’t have to.

“Captain Rogers?” A voice came from outside, urgent and businesslike.

Steve stilled and looked down at Bucky, “Buck, I think I have to go.”

Bucky sighed.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “looks that way.” He felt dejected but he wasn’t entirely sure why. It wasn’t like he should even feel that attached to Steve. He didn’t know him after all.

“I’ll... I’ll come back, yeah?”

Steve sounded uncertain, whether that was because he wasn’t sure he would come back or because he wasn’t sure Bucky wanted him to come back, Bucky couldn’t say.

“Yeah,” he replied, unable to say much else.

And then Steve was gone, leaving Bucky confused and feeling more alone than ever.

It would be another four months until Steve came back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months later Steve comes back to visit Bucky.

The next time he came to see Bucky he had a beard and Bucky’s hair was shoulder length. It was four months later. It felt like it had been minutes ago.

As Steve walked to Bucky’s place in the woods he mentally reminded himself of everything that had happened the last time he’d seen him. As if he hadn’t been thinking of Bucky endlessly for the last four months. For the last seventy years.

He walked without focusing too hard on where he was going- he didn’t need to think when he was going towards Bucky, he’d end up with him eventually, he always did.

Steve’s aching muscles protested as he walked. He was exhausted and in an ideal world he would be staying for more than the evening with Bucky even if he had to sleep on the floor- Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to take this path back again in five hours time, not because he didn’t feel he’d be safe but because he was physically too tired to do much more this evening.

Since he’d got back to New York he’d had mission after mission, some with the Avengers, others without them, but without the constant pestering of someone (normally Nat, but before her it had been Bucky, he remembered, his heart twisting), reminding him that he needed to sleep, Steve, who never slept the best whilst on missions, had worked himself into the ground. He was physically and emotionally drained and his only thoughts were the trees ahead of him.

Soon enough, a house rose out of the mist some way in the distance. Steve was reluctant to call it a house because it really was too small, perhaps it was more like a cabin. He could remember a few minor details from the last time he had visited his friend but they were hazy and colourless, his full attention having been sharply focused on the man that made everything else look dark around him, overshadowed by his brightness. Steve knew that no one would ever look at Bucky and call him colourful- the man dressed in all black, had dark hair and dark blue eyes. There was literally nothing bright about him, but nevertheless Steve felt drawn to him like a moth to a light.

It was cold in Wakanda and Steve quickened his pace upon glimpsing the cabin in the clearing, his breathing heavier. He could see his breath vaporising in the misty air around him. Prickling at his nose was the smell of a log fire and Steve inhaled it gladly, excited at the prospect of warmth, his clothing damp from the condensation in the air. He walked the last few steps to the oak door with sudden trepidation- now that he was here the exhaustion and anticipation gave way to worry.

His heart pounded as he reached a hand up to the door to knock.

Images of Bucky screaming at him, rejecting him, or worse, he envisaged a Bucky with a recovered memory and disgusted by the relationship they’d once had.

Steve set his jaw.

The door opened slowly and Bucky stood in the doorway, dark hair pulled up into a messy bun, metal arm nowhere to be seen. A thick red blanket covered his top half and black sweatpants covered the rest of him.

“Steve?” 

He sounded confused, his smile was wonky and the emotions in his eyes conflicted.

The man in front of him was undeniably Bucky. Steve’s throat felt tight and his heart twisted. He never should have gone away for this long.

“Hi Buck,” he said, his voice breaking slightly at the name.

Bucky stepped aside, tugging his blanket around him. Whether it was from the cold outside or from self-consciousness Steve couldn’t say. He wondered if it was both.

Taking it as an invitation to come in, Steve glanced at Bucky who nodded as he walked into the cabin. He gestured to Steve to sit on the patched, once red sofa by the fireplace where he had indeed got a fire going. Steve sat gladly and Bucky wordlessly handed him a cup of coffee that was made exactly how he liked it. Steve marvelled at Bucky having apparently recalled that.

He took a sip and it scolded the back of his mouth - also weirdly how he liked it.

“I’m sorry for not coming early, Buck,” he said quietly. Bucky, who sat down at the furthest end of the sofa, Steve noted sadly, didn’t reply but shook his head slightly as though he didn’t mind. “I wish I’d come sooner y’know,” he said softly, wondering if Bucky actually did mind, hoping to elicit a response out of the other man.

“Then why didn’t you.”

His voice was quiet but Steve could hear the well-disguised anger laced in his voice. Steve sighed and opened his mouth to reply but Bucky’s voice cut across him, “‘m sorry,” he muttered, the annoyance directed at himself now.

“No,” Steve said, “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”

Bucky opened his mouth again but this time Steve persisted, “it’s my fault, Buck, not yours.”

The other man pressed his lips together in a thin line, clearly disagreeing but not wanting to argue. Steve counted it as a victory.

“This coffee is unbelievably good,”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounded surprised and perhaps even a little proud of himself, “I- uh, it was one of the first things I remembered about you when you left before.”

Steve looked over at him, a lump forming in his throat, finding it difficult to swallow, “what else do you remember?”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head forwards, a tiny lock of dark hair falling over his eyes, “since our- I’ve been remembering more about our... relationship.”

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice was tentative, “and what do you think?”

“I- I think I must’ve been a good guy to deserve that,” he whispered.

Steve could have sworn his heart almost broke.

“You’re still a good guy, Buck,” he said fiercely, but the other man’s mouth was turned down, an unhappy tear clinging to his dark eyelashes, threatening to fall.

“Can I hold you?” Steve asked, desperate to comfort him, to make him see the side of him that hadn’t been manipulated by Hydra, to make him realise he was still there.

Bucky nodded.

Steve let out a relieved breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding in. He scooted up to Bucky’s end of the sofa and slowly, checking Bucky’s eyes for confirmation, wrapped his arm around the other man’s shoulders. Bucky slumped slightly, tension leaking out of his body and Steve pulled him closer so that Bucky could rest his head on his shoulder.

“Oh God,” Steve heard him mutter. His hands were shaking. 

_Why had he not come sooner. _

Steve put his other arm around Bucky too, encouraging him to shuffle around on the sofa, repositioning himself until he was directly facing Steve. Turning also, Steve took Bucky’s trembling hand in his own steady ones and guided it around his neck. Once he was satisfied that Bucky’s hand would stay around him he moved his own hands to wrap around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in, encouraging him to rest his head once again on his shoulder, only, like last time, Bucky was able to hear his heart beating.

Steve hoped it would calm him and comfort him like it had comforted him all those years ago.

He brought a hand up to stroke the back of the other man’s neck, letting his long hair glide through his fingers. It was an awkward angle, both men half kneeling, half bent in two on the creaking sofa but it didn’t matter.

They reminded like that for several minutes until Steve felt his back starting to throb and Bucky, stretching his neck said, “Steve, can we change positions?”

“Sure Buck, maybe not the most comfortable one for me to choose,” he replied, shifting to sit on the sofa normally. He hoped this didn’t mean Bucky wanted to move away from him completely, but, to his relief, Bucky said, “can I try something?”

He sounded less like he was expecting to be rejected and Steve wanted to punch the air in triumph, and probably would have done had he not been certain it would blow his back completely.

Steve nodded, smiling, gesturing at him to go ahead.

Bucky stood up, and now Steve could see his uncertainty, the slight wobbling of his legs giving him away. Leaning forward, Steve placed a large hand on his armless left shoulder, steadying him. Bucky flinched and looked sharply at the hand on his shoulder; “thanks,” he murmured, his voice unsteady too now and Steve wondered if he shouldn’t have done anything to begin with. He stroked the shoulder once and sat back, resolving not to interfere again as he watched the other man take his hair out of his bun. He performed the action quickly, clearly trying not to draw much attention to it but Steve couldn’t stop himself from staring; he bit his lip hard to suppress a moan, wanting to rake his hands through his hair with a desperation that shocked him. He reminded himself that this Bucky might not want that as much as the old Bucky had.

Bucky moved quickly, as though he was afraid Steve would stop him. He slid onto his lap facing him, circling his arm around his neck and Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s waist instinctively, pulling him closer. Steve felt Bucky smile against his neck and Steve buried his face in his beautiful hair, greatly likely this new position.

Bucky’s scent filled his nostrils- an addictive aroma of ash, pinewood and citrous. He breathed the smell like oxygen.

“What d’you think?” Bucky asked him nervously, his voice muffled by Steve’s skin. Steve sighed softly into Bucky’s hair, carding his fingers through it, “this is my favourite so far,” he whispered.

The other man drew back to look at him. He was so close Steve could count his thick eyelashes and see the black circles under his dark blue eyes.

“Really?”

“Yeah Buck,” he said softly, gently moving a stray curl of hair from out of his face. Bucky visibly shivered at the touch and cast his eyes downwards. Steve wondered if he was embarrassed.

“So what have you been doing lately?” he asked, hoping to distract the other man from his self-consciousness but the moment he asked he realised it was a stupid question.

“Not much,” said Bucky, huffing a laugh, “staying out of trouble mostly.”

“Sounds unlike you,” Steve replied, and Bucky chuckled, “who knows what’s ‘like me’ anymore.”

Steve wanted to smash his head against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said, “wasn’t thinking.”

“S’okay,” Bucky replied, “I’ve been trying to remember stuff anyway.”

“How’s that been going?”

“Well, like I said, I can remember stuff about us... together. I think that it was your touch last time that... that allowed me to remember.” He sounded uncertain, as though he was afraid he was talking nonsense.

Steve hurried to reassure him, “yeah,” he said, “that makes sense.”

Bucky nodded once, “been eating a lot of plums, y’know.” At Steve’s perplexed look he explained, “plums help with memory loss.”

“Oh,” said Steve, ineloquently, “right.”

“Yeah.”

In their silence Steve could hear the crackle of the fire, the warmth of it heating up the small room. The dark outside was creeping up into the room and Steve saw an old lantern resting on the floor- they’d have to light it soon as there didn’t seem to be any other light source other than the fire.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He asked the still room, suddenly unsure if Bucky would want him to stay.

Bucky’s eyes snapped to his own and his mouth opened slightly in surprise. Steve zeroed in on his shining lips and then wondered what the hell he was thinking.

“Yes please,” Bucky replied.

Steve blinked and then grinned up at the man above him, “thanks Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes slid off Steve’s face as he glanced down and Steve got the impression that being thanked, being appreciated made him feel awkward. He felt like he didn’t deserve it.

Steve fucking  _hated_ Hydra.

“Can I-?” Bucky put his arm back around Steve’s neck cautiously and Steve nodded: “you don’t have to ask.”

Bucky’s answering silence suggested that he disagreed but he learnt forward and returned to his position on Steve’s lap anyway, face buried in the crook of his neck.

Steve was quickly growing more and more aware of his presence on his lap. His brain, originally distracted by speech, appeared to be catching up with his natural bodily desires. Steve groaned inwardly, shifting, seeing how long he could ignore it and prevent Bucky from realising and thinking he was some sort of creep.

One of Steve’s hands rested on his back and the other strayed to Bucky’s destroyed left shoulder, stroking patterns there.

“Steve,” the other man spoke sharply and Steve’s hand stilled immediately,

“Yeah?”

“You-it-,” Bucky groaned in frustration, his hand balling the top of Steve’s shirt into an angry fist as he fought to find the words, “you don’t have to... touch... _it_.”  He spat the last word as though the remainder of his arm wasn’t a part of him, “I told you before.”

“I know I don’t have to,” said Steve, “but I want to, if you’re okay with it.”

Bucky looked at him in astonishment, the fist at the back of Steve’s neck clenching and unclenching the material, confusion sweeping his features.

“But this- it’s not even the metal... it’s... it’s...”, Bucky seemed a little less wild but the blue in his eyes remained stormy.

“It’s what, Buck?” said Steve gently, “a part of you? As beautiful as the rest of you?” He didn’t give the other man a chance to challenge that last remark and Steve tried not to think too hard about it either, “so yeah, I want to be able to stroke your shoulder and make you feel good because you deserve nothing less.”

Steve tried not to think too hard about the ‘make you feel good’ part of that sentence as well.

He was  so _screwed_ .

Bucky stared at him, still shocked, and Steve whispered, “don’t you dare question that.”

The other man said nothing but Steve could see the question in his eyes and it was unbearable. “Come here,” he murmured, pulling him forwards and returning him to their original position.

Bucky sighed peacefully and Steve felt his eyelashes flutter against his neck. Steve’s pulse rocketed and he suspected that Bucky could feel it against his cheek. Steve thought he might die from the mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

Bucky of course chose that moment to whisper “I like your beard, Stevie,” i n his ear.

That was it. Steve was dead. 

There was no way he was going to survive a night with this man without several cold showers and thoughts of squashed hedgehogs.

“You do?” his voice an octave higher than normal,

“Yeah, I do. Not very Captain America of you though.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, concentrating as hard as possible on words, “that’s why I like it.”

Bucky grinned into his neck.

“I love you hair like this,” Steve said, in a rush as Bucky slipped slightly on his lap, risking brushing against his erection. Steve swallowed, shifting Bucky back up and focusing on playing with the strands of hair by his cheek. The other man blushed slightly, “I was gonna cut it but then I changed my mind.”

Steve nodded, “it looks great.”

Bucky said nothing in reply, only nuzzled closer to Steve’s neck and he felt little puffs of air by his ear.

“Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“What was our relationship like?”

Steve paused, thinking before replying, sending a couple of mental images of dead birds to his brain as well. His erection still tented his jeans uncomfortably. _Ug__h_ .

“Well I think it started off as comfort, and then quickies during pauses in fighting. I remember you told me you loved me before- before we jumped...,”

“And then,” Bucky looked at him, “and then I fell.”

Steve exhaled shakily, “y-yeah.”

Bucky sighed reflectively and then lent back, stretching his back,

“S’dark outside,” he mumbled, “what’s the time?”

Steve glanced at his watch, “just gone midnight.”

“Mmm,” said Bucky, “s’late.”

“Yeah,” said Steve.

Neither of them moved.

“We should turn on that lantern,” Steve suggested.

“Mmm.”

The fire had died some time ago although neither of them had noticed. The darkness continued to seep slowly into the room until Steve could barely make out Bucky’s facial features.

“I’ll sleep on the sofa tonight.”

“Stevie... we can- we can share... can’t we?”

“Share your bed?” Steve returned, hoping to keep the slight terror out of his voice as he remained all too aware of his ever-present erection.

“Y-yes?” Bucky sounded more uncertain than ever and Steve’s resolve crumbled.

“If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Can I take a shower first?” Steve asked hopefully,

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Phew . Steve was saved.

“Great, thanks Buck.”

Bucky stood up quickly and Steve was grateful for the speed of the motion, hoping his erection would be less noticeable. He stood up too, grabbing his (originally optimistic), overnight bag from the floor in one shift movement and positioning it strategically in front of his crotch.

Bucky was knelt on the floor below him, fiddling with the lantern and Steve did not find that it was helping his state of arousal at all.

“So I’ll just head to the bathroom?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Bucky replied, trying to find the switch to turn on the rather rusty-looking lantern, “it’s just to your right.”

“Great, thanks Buck.”

Bucky looked up at Steve, a strand of hair across his eyes, “no problem Stevie,” he murmured.

Steve fled from the room, practically sprinting to the bathroom. He turned the shower on as cold as it would go and summoned up images of crying babies.

The night was going very differently to how Steve had imagined it would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated as always! Xox


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky was already in bed when Steve padded over to the bedroom, drinking a herbal tea - it helped prepare him for the restless nights.

“Good shower?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied. Apparently he slept topless. A small bead of water slipped down his chest and Bucky watched it’s path, fascinated, as the water trailed down milky white skin. A spark of something like electricity leapt inside of him and Bucky wondered if inviting Steve to sleep in the same bed as him had been a bad idea. It was too late to be regretting it now.

He tugged at his old grey t-shirt a little self-consciously and lifted the covers uncertainly, silently asking Steve if he wanted to get into bed. Steve smiled at him and slid under the duvet. 

The first thing that Bucky noticed about Steve’s presence in his bed was his warmth. The blonde man radiated heat and Bucky, who normally slept in his t-shirt or a pullover in the cold room, found himself shifting closer to Steve, seeking the heat.

The other man seemed to know what he wanted without him even asking and he put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in close,

“Cold, Buck?”

“‘Bit,” Bucky said, but he wasn’t really, could never be with Steve next to him. Nonetheless, Steve pulled a blanket from the ends of the messy bed and wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Could they not have found you somewhere with central heating?” he asked, a small smile on his face.

“Not if I wanted a place away from everything,” Bucky replied, shrugging.

“Right,” Steve’s hand tightened on his shoulder and pulled him even closer, so that their legs were almost touching underneath the covers. Bucky felt goosebumps spring up on his skin but the warmth of Steve forced him to admit that wasn’t from cold.

He was convinced that he’d have felt this way if anyone held him in the same tender way that Steve did, the physical contact after Hydra’s machines so strange yet so welcome that he was sure he’d have felt the same if Steve were Sam or Nat. But he wasn’t. He was  Steve and somehow that made the contact all the more incredibly foreign, despite their history.

He rested his head on his shoulder and exhaled shakily,

“I’m glad you’re here Stevie,”

“Me too, Buck.”

Bucky wondered if he really was glad to be here with him when he could be in his own, warm bed with the rest of the Avengers- his friends.

The thought made his stomach churn with guilt. He thought he’d better not dwell on it. He wondered how he’d ended up in bed with Captain America: world’s oldest heartthrob, instead. He supposed that he wasn’t really ‘in bed: in bed’ with him but the thought still provoked a crimson blush that spread form his cheeks all the way down his neck.

Steve yawned and a small spike of panic hit Bucky. He anticipated the regular nightmares and thought he’d better attempt to keep the other man awake for as long as possible. He knew it was cruel when Steve was probably exhausted from the days travel and from the past four months as well, but he was too worried about waking Steve up with his screams to feel too mean about it.

“So what was I like before, Stevie?”

Steve smiled a little, perhaps at the easily coined nickname that Bucky had been enjoying exploiting, or perhaps at the question; Bucky couldn’t tell, “you were a cocky bastard,” he replied, his smile stretching to a wide grin as Bucky feigned offence;

“What? Me?” He said in mock-horror, pressing a hand to his heart dramatically.

The blonde man laughed aloud, a rumbly sort of laugh, and Bucky revelled in the sound, even grinning with him.

Bucky didn’t feel as though he was very cocky anymore. He hoped it would be a trait he could regain, if only to make Steve laugh like that all the time.

“You were kind too,” Steve added, “that hasn’t changed.”

Bucky frowned, trying to remember when he was last kind and finding that he couldn’t, “what d’you-,” he began, but Steve put a finger on his lips, “you’re a kind person, Buck,” and Bucky found himself unable to speak, focusing too hard on the tingly sensation of Steve’s finger on his mouth.

The other man smiled at him and then, “we should get some sleep,”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, unconvincingly.

Steve’s arm around his shoulders tightened even more, so much so that Bucky wondered if he would ever let go. He hoped he wouldn’t.

“I’m here,” said Steve, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Bucky tried to speak but his throat was dry as sandpaper. He settled for nodding instead.

“I’ve got you,” the blonde man repeated, “you’re safe.  I’m  safe.”

Bucky nodded again, trying to believe it.

The hand around his shoulders rubbed one soothing circle and then Steve was slipping under the covers, settling down for the night.

Bucky followed suit, less smoothly due the lack of his metal arm- he was always slightly off balance without it, and Steve brought his hands up to his waist to hold him steady. Bucky’s skin tingled and he tried not to think about those hands going any lower.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

Steve shook his head, “don’t need to thank me, Buck.”

Bucky didn’t say anything in reply- he knew it was useless to argue.

The other man switched the lantern off and they were plunged into darkness.

He lay on his side, facing away from Steve, forcing himself not to push himself backwards, not to try and curl into Steve’s heat. He wondered if Steve would mind him sleeping facing him, his head buried in his chest, his ear next to his heartbeat. There had been no barriers between them earlier but Bucky felt that this was different somehow. Everything felt more intimate at night.

The quiet between them meant that Bucky had time to realise how dark it was in the room. He wasn’t that good with the dark, not anymore.

“Steve?” His voice sounded timid, even to his own ears.

“Hmm?”

“Can we have the curtains open a bit?”

“Yeah, sure,” the other man replied without judgement in his voice and Bucky heard the rustle of the sheets as he got up and padded over to the window.

“Tell me when to stop,” Steve instructed, beginning to pull the curtains back, revealing the glow of the moon, bathing the bedroom in a silver light.

“That’s fine,” said Bucky, once Steve had pulled them open just enough for Bucky to make out his gentle smile as he got back into the bed, “is that okay?” He asked, worried that Steve liked it to be pitch black when he slept.

“Yeah, Buck, it’s fine, ‘don’t mind a little bit of light.”

“Oh, thanks.”

Steve smiled at him and this time when Bucky rolled back over onto his side Steve’s arm went with him, draped across him. The weight of it grounded Bucky a little more and having Steve touch him made him feel a little happier about closing his eyes.

“Okay?” He asked,

“Yeah,” said Bucky, “okay.”

He heard Steve’s smile in his voice, “good night then, Buck.”

“‘Night Stevie.”

He closed his eyes.

He awoke not long after.

The nightmare had been fuzzier than normal - the screams had been quieter and the buzzing of the machines dulled. The panic had been less and the pain numbed.

But Steve’s face had still been the same, the blood had trickled down his cheek as red as his own, his calm blue eyes had held the same honesty, the same purity, as Bucky’s angry metal fist had punched them shut.

Steve’s body without fight. The shield dropped into the nothingness below. The shards of glass slamming into his back. The dirt smeared on Steve’s face. The bloodied mouth. The kind words. The loving words. 

The confusion.

The confusion had buzzed like wasps around him, stinging him sharply, humming continuously, screeching furiously.

In his nightmares Bucky didn’t stop punching. The screen of red coloured his vision until it was all he could see, not only in his head. He hit and hit until Steve couldn’t speak, couldn’t see, sealed his eyes shut, until he coughed blood. 

Until he was dead.

Bucky awoke shaking, eyes wide, clawing at his hair, curling his hand into his chest, Steve’s name a choking sob on his lips.

“Buck? Bucky?”

The familiar voice came at his right hand side and Bucky’s head whipped around, breathing shallow and irregular.

“Steve?” He croaked, the other man was propped up on his elbow, concern painted across his face as the early morning sun rose behind him, illuminating the anguish in the eyes.

Bucky felt himself burning up, sweat slid down his face, his hair stuck to his neck. He tried to even out his breathing, taking in large gulps of air that smelt like Steve.

“I’m okay, Buck, we’re okay,” Steve said, slowly repeating it over and overand Bucky breathed to the tempo of his words.

“Yeah,” he muttered, and Steve lifted his hands to his face and pushed his damp hair out of his eyes.

“_God, Steve_,” he whispered, his voice rough and painful. The contact was a welcome shock and provoked a full-body tremble.

The blonde man searched his eyes with his own, worry flooding his face.

“Can I hold you?”

“‘Don’t have to ask anymore, Stevie,” he replied, voice weak.

Steve gave a half-shrug and then reached for him.

Bucky exhaled shakily as he felt Steve’s strong arms wrap around him.

He held him for several quiet moments. Bucky opened his eyes and watched the sun come up, nearly blinding him as the sky turned a brilliant bright orange.

He turned his head and looked at Steve. Alive. Holding him.

He brought a hand to Steve’s face, and with a trembling finger, traced the laughter lines around his eyes. His bright, open eyes, free of blood and looking at him with such tenderness.

“Stevie,” he whispered as he trailed a finger down his chin. He couldn’t seem to stop saying the other man’s name.

Steve smiled at him, and the early morning sun from outside caught on his hair, shining into Bucky’s eyes with such a beautiful ferocity that he was almost blinded again. He shielded his eyes from it but peeked through his fingers to get a glimpse. Steve looked radiant.

The blonde man smiled at him again and pulled him close.

“‘Whassa time?” Bucky asked blearily, voice muffled by Steve’s chest. It occurred to him then that if he moved his head slightly his mouth would be directly opposite the other man’s nipple. He wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to dwell on that one. Hell, he knew for certain it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Steve leaned backwards, glancing at his watch on the bedside table, “it’s two in the morning.”

Bucky was surprised that Steve didn’t sound angry about this.

“‘M sorry,” he said, noticing Steve trying to hide a yawn.

“S’okay Buck,” said Steve, and it sounded like he meant it, “you okay to go back to sleep now or d’you want to stay up?”

“Nah,” he felt as though he shouldn’t keep Steve awake for any longer, “I can sleep.”

Steve nodded and lay back down in the bed, Bucky copying. This time though the other man lay facing him and held out his arms, the question in the tilt of his head. Bucky nodded and shuffled forwards until he was within Steve’s embrace. The blonde man wrapped his arms around him, grounding him. 

Bucky closed his eyes and slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter this time but hopefully enjoyed all the same! Xox

Steve awoke a little later.

He was a morning person and found it difficult to lie in. This morning was different however.

Bucky slept soundly next to him, his dark hair cascading over the pillow. He hadn’t awoken again and Steve was glad of that- the nightmares seemed to be a regular occurrence of Bucky’s original delaying of sleep had been anything to judge by.

The time on his watch read seven in the morning- a lie-in for Steve. He didn’t feel like moving much though. Bucky’s dark eyelashes were so close to his face and his head was buried in the crook of Steve’s neck. They had both moved during the night and Steve now lay on his back, both hands wrapped around the other man’s back. The other man in question lay at a strange angle, practically on top of him. Their legs were intertwined.

Feeling something stir inside of him, Steve wasn’t sure he could retain his dignity for as long as it took for Bucky to awake, but he also couldn’t bear to move him, couldn’t bear to get up and leave him to wake up alone.

He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come back to him. 

He awoke again an hour later.

Bucky still slept soundly beside him, or rather, across him. This time Steve really did have to move the other man off him- his stomach was growling incessantly. With a quiet sigh, Steve slipped out from underneath Bucky and tiptoed over to the bathroom.

He brushed his teeth, washed his face and tried to feel a little more human than he had been feeling over the past few months. A little less Captain America. A little more human. A little more Steve Rogers.

His eyes looked tired and his smile looked fake. He sighed at himself in the mirror. It would come with practice.

Navigating his way out of the bedroom and down the hallway, Steve found the kitchen- a small room with the bare necessities. He didn’t mind what it looked like as long as he could make some toast.

Several slices of toast and jam Steve was feeling a little better. Since the serum his appetite had grown vastly and he’d become dependant on eating at least five meals a day. He hoped Bucky had enough in the fridge.

“Steve?” Bucky wandered into the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his face, his hair mussed from sleep.

Steve had never seen someone so beautiful.

“Morning Buck,” he said softly, remembering that Bucky didn’t like to talk much in the mornings.

He watched as the dark-haired man made himself a coffee and some toast. Only after Bucky had taken his first few sips of coffee did he dare to speak again.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” he replied, apparently able to manage more than a few words with the help of coffee, “best in ages.”

Steve couldn’t help the pride rising within him. He hoped Bucky’s improvement in sleep had something to do with him.

Bucky finished his toast and glanced out of the window, “what d’you wanna do today?”

Steve shrugged, “could go for a walk if you feel like it?” It was a bright winter morning.

Bucky nodded and Steve added, not wanting to pressure him, “or we watch a film or talk?”

“Or we do all three?” Bucky said hopefully,

Steve grinned, “or we do all three.”

The woods were quite different by daylight to the foreboding, shadowy trees that Steve had been surrounded by earlier. The sunlight shone through them and the vibrant leaves bathed the ground in beautiful colourful. They walked for about an hour, not saying much, talking only to decide which direction to go in. Steve was okay with the quiet between them, in fact he quite liked it- he could hear the calls of birds and the rustling of squirrels and the thudding of their own steps.

They arrived back at the cabin cold but refreshed. Noticing the other man was shivering somewhat, Steve took a blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped him gently in it.

“Thanks,” said Bucky quietly, his metal hand clamping down hard on the material so it stayed around his shoulders, unmoving, like it was glued to him. The silly part of Steve wished that it was him glued to the other man. The silly part of him was apparently all of him.

Bucky put the kettle on and they both sat down on the sofa, legs almost touching but not quite.

“What d’you wanna watch?”

Bucky waved a DVD, “Harry Potter?”

It was already dark outside when the movie finished. Bucky got up to light the lantern and returned with a second mug of hot chocolate.

He sat back down and Steve went to wrap an arm around him but stopped at a glance from Bucky.

“Can I-?”

Steve nodded, gesturing at him to go ahead. The nerves showed on Bucky’s face and within his concentrated eyes but, all the same, his shaking hand moved to hover above Steve’s leg.

A little confused, he nodded.

Bucky’s touch spread heat through him and Steve tried not to sigh. Bucky lifted his leg and turned it, suggesting to Steve that he wanted him to move until he was fully lying on the sofa with his head resting on the arm of it.

Steve did so, readjusting himself easily, “like this?”

Bucky’s eyes had still been fixed on his leg, on where he had touched Steve’s body, but now his eyes snapped up to meet Steve’s and he seemed to take in his movement, acknowledge it as though he had blanked out for the last few seconds.

The silence stretched out.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, yes,” he said quickly, “like this.”

Steve nodded, deciding not to push it.

Bucky, kneeling, brushed his long hair out of his face with his fingers and Steve became mesmerised, his fingers desperate to run through the hair. He swore he would learn how to plait hair for that man.

Bucky shifted and Steve watched as he sat down, his back to Steve, and shuffled backward until he was effectively lying on top of him, his head by Steve’s shoulder.

Steve inhaled a breath and tried not to choke on the air. He glanced down to check if the other man had noticed and found Bucky looking up at him with a mischievous grin on his face.

Steve gulped, his cheeks flaming.

Bucky wriggled a little on his lap and Steve bit down hard on the inside of his cheek- the feeling of Bucky’s ass near his cock would be too arousing for anyone, he reasoned, not just for him.

He knew it was stupid, like a teenager to entertain the thought, but Bucky wasn’t moving away from him, and he thought that maybe, just maybe...

Steve reached down and laid a hand on Bucky’s waist, tracing circles there, his other hand in the man’s hair, running through it, gently tugging at the long brown strands, an action that appeared to make Bucky close his eyes but Steve wasn’t sure if it was from happiness, arousal or something entirely different, but he hadn’t told him to stop.

Then, Bucky shifted his body up slightly and then ground downward onto Steve’s cock and this time there was no mistaking the intention.

Steve let out a surprised moan and Bucky looked up at him and tentatively, with a lot more uncertainty than he had just shown, he brushed his lips with his finger.

Shocked by his boldness, Steve gasped and Bucky tilted his head to one side, beginning to trace the outline of his mouth.

Steve swore he was on deaths door.

“Stevie...,”

“Yeah Buck?” his voice was a little hoarse.

“Can I?”

“Anything,” he breathed out, his eyes latched onto Bucky’s blazing blue eyes.

Bucky sat up, straddling his lap. Then there was a hand at the bottom of Steve’s grey top and Bucky pulled it over his head so that his chest was exposed to him. Bucky whistled lowly and Steve felt his face warm up, a bead of self-conscious sweat gathering on his forehead.

Bucky leaned forward on his lap, an action that made them both hiss with pleasure. He put both hands on his shoulders and, lifting his metal hand gingerly so that it cupped Steve’s cheek, he brushed their lips together.


End file.
